On the tail of worry came another unpleasant emotion: jealousy. Papa worked so hard, but his small monthly stipend, lovingly offered by their congregation, didn’t allow for extravagance of any kind. Now that Ruthie lived in the Clifton Hotel, Mama had no help with cleaning or cooking or sewing. Somehow it didn’t seem fair that her kind, loving parents had to labor while Dinah’s parents apparently paid others to labor for them. Jealousy was wrong. A verse in Proverbs said envy was the rottenness of one’s bones. Ruthie didn’t want her bones to rot, but at that moment she would have given almost anything to trade places with Dinah’s family for one day and let her family enjoy a little luxury and leisure.
Approaching footsteps pulled Ruthie from her reverie. She looked up as Dinah entered the room with two saucers of oozing cherry pie slices balanced on one arm, the way the servers carried several plates at once, and a glass of milk in her other hand. Dinah dipped her knees to set her milk on the little table without upsetting the saucers. Ruthie got a glimpse of the slices of pie. One was significantly larger than the other. Someone must have taken a sliver from one of the pieces rather than eating an entire slice. Dinah lifted the saucer bearing the larger slice first, and Ruthie expected her to place it next to her glass of milk. But instead she held it out to Ruthie. Ruthie blinked twice, startled. Wouldn’t a wealthy person keep the best for herself?
The jealous feeling whisked away as guilt swept in. She’d been thinking ill of Dinah, and she was wrong to do so. Papa and Mama would be mortified if they knew. Forgive me, Lord, for my uncharitable thoughts. She shook her head. “No, you take that one.”
Dinah’s brow crinkled. The same strange combination of desire and defeat danced across her expression. She opened her mouth to speak, but then without a word she plopped the saucer containing the larger slice on top of the crumb-laden plate in Ruthie’s lap. She returned to her chair, lifted her fork, and began to eat the pie. But no enjoyment showed on her face.
Ruthie took up a bite as well, but she couldn’t find pleasure in the juicy cherries or flaky crust. Somehow she had to make amends for the ugly thoughts she’d entertained. Even if she was right—even if Dinah was snobbish—it didn’t give Ruthie the right to disparage her whether inwardly or openly. What could she do to ease her conscience? She gasped.
Dinah gasped, too, nearly dropping her fork.
Ruthie reached across the little table to touch Dinah’s elbow. “Tomorrow is Sunday. Mr. Irwin allows us an hour’s break midmorning. Papa changed the time of worship at the chapel where he serves as minister to accommodate the employees here at the Clifton. Would you go to worship with me? I want to introduce you to Mama and Papa, little Dinah, and the boys.” She almost forgot to breathe she was so eager for Dinah’s acceptance.
A scowl tensed Dinah’s face. “Why?”
Ruthie drew back. “Why … what?”
“Why do you want me to meet your family?”
Ruthie tittered. She couldn’t confess she was trying to make up for thinking derogatory thoughts about her roommate. “Because we’re friends.” But were they? She’d been so certain she and Dinah would grow as close as she and Phoebe had been. But if Dinah came from an affluent background, she’d always be different from Phoebe. And different from Ruthie. Maybe they’d never be friends.
Dinah stared at her. Her stunned expression showed her disbelief.
Ruthie hung her head as another tentacle of guilt wrapped itself around her. Had she really invited Dinah to church to appease her own conscience? What of Dinah’s soul? The girl obviously had no relationship with God. If Jesus’s statement about rich men entering heaven was true—and of course Jesus didn’t lie!—then Dinah needed to hear Papa’s preaching. She needed to hear how much God loved her.
Ruthie reached for Dinah again, but the girl drew back, avoiding Ruthie’s fingers. She sighed. “Dinah, may I be honest with you?”
She offered a hesitant nod even though her eyes flashed denial.
Ruthie gathered her courage, then spoke in a rush before she lost her nerve. “I want you to come to church with me to meet my family because I want them to know who my new roommate is, but mostly I want you to come because I love God very much and God loves you very much and I think the two of you need to become acquainted. The best place to get to know Him is in church. So will you come?”
Dinah set her lips in a firm line. Her body seemed to tremble. With rage? disdain? discomfort? Ruthie didn’t know, but her heart ached as she witnessed the turmoil shuddering its way through Dinah’s slight frame.
A bell rang.
Both girls looked toward the doorway. Then they looked at each other. Ruthie started to set her plate aside to see to the guest’s need, but Dinah leaped up first.
“I’ll get it. Enjoy your pie.” Dinah dashed out the door as if demons chased her.
Dinah
Was she really doing this? Dinah climbed into the back of the two-bench buggy Mr. Irwin made available to businessmen who came to town. All night she’d wrestled with herself, bouncing back and forth between wanting to go to church with Ruthie and not wanting to go. She’d often walked past an ornate church building in Chicago. Its enormous stained-glass window of a man in a flowing robe with his arms outstretched had beckoned to her. But when she asked Tori about visiting the building, her mother laughed and said the holier-than-thou people would chase her out if she dared to darken their doorway. Dinah hadn’t known what “holier than thou” meant, but the way Tori spit the words let her know it wasn’t a good thing. So Dinah had stayed away.
But now here she was, planning to enter a church for the first time in her life. Because Ruthie said she would meet God there. Because Ruthie said God loved her very much. The very thought drew Dinah in with the same intensity as the image formed by pieces of colored glass. Would this Kansas church be filled with holier-than-thou people who would chase her away like the one in Chicago, or would they let her in so she could meet God?
One of the busboys, Dean, had been assigned the duty of transporting the girls to church. He sat proudly in the front holding the reins. Ruthie clambered up beside Dinah, followed by two of the servers, Lyla and Minnie. The remaining two servers, Matilda and Amelia, shared the front seat with the busboy.
Dean flicked a glance into the back, and a grin climbed his cheek. “You look as snug as cigars in a new box back there.”
Minnie slapped his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be talking about cigars, Dean Muller!”
“She’s right,” Ruthie added, her lips pursed up as if she’d tasted something sour. “Cigars don’t make for nice Sunday morning talk.”
He laughed, his dimples flashing. “I didn’t invite you to smoke one. No need to get yourself in a dither.”
Ruthie frowned, but Minnie hid her smile behind her fingers and giggled. She fluttered her lashes at Dean, the way the girls at Miss Flo’s used to do to entice the men to choose them. Dinah’s breakfast curdled in her stomach.
“Are you staying for service, Dean?” Lyla asked.
Dean shook his head, nearly dislodging his cap. He tugged it a little lower on his forehead. “Coming back here and sleeping during our break. Me an’ the other fellas stayed out too late last night. Missed our curfew.” He touched his finger to his lips, as if swearing the girls to secrecy, and waggled his brows. “But my, the party at the opera house was grand! I danced with at least a dozen girls.”
Amelia nudged Dean with her elbow. “Stop yapping. We’ll miss the service altogether if we don’t get going.”
“All right, all right.” Dean flicked the reins, and the horses strained against the rigging. In moments, they’d bumped across the railroad tracks and were heading through the center of town.
Dinah’s side, pressed against the iron frame of the seat, ached. Even though Minnie sat on the edge of the seat rather than against the back, Dinah was wedged so tightly between the seat and Ruthie’s hip they might not be able to free themselves when they reached church. Why had she agreed to go, anyway? Curio
sity, partly. But mostly some strange inner longing to discover for herself if what Ruthie had said about God loving her was true. An image of the beautiful church in Chicago filled her mind, and a little chill spread across her limbs despite the summer sun shining down. If God lived in such a place, and He loved her, could that mean she wasn’t as worthless as she’d always believed?
Perspiration trickled from her temple down to her chin, but with her arm locked against Ruthie’s, she couldn’t reach up to wipe it away. So she turned her face toward the breeze and allowed the hot wind to dry the dribble of sweat. She kept her face angled outward until Dean drew the horses to a halt.
Ruthie said in her cheery voice, “We’re here, Dinah. Let’s go!”
Dinah turned to look, and if she hadn’t been wedged into the seat, she might have fallen out of the buggy in shock. This tiny white clapboard building with clear-paned windows and a set of slanting wooden risers climbing to the single door was a church? This was where God lived? She’d expected so much more.
Dean had hopped out and was assisting the girls from the buggy. Other people, presumably coming to attend the service, walked across the sparse yard toward the porch. Ruthie waved to each of them, and as the girls alighted, they formed a little group and shook the road dust from their uniforms. But Dinah remained on the seat, staring at the sad-looking little building. Why had she allowed her hopes to grow so high? Of course any God who loved her wouldn’t reside in a fine, beautiful, towering building with bright-colored windows. He’d be in a ramshackle place. As ramshackle as her sorry life.
“You coming out, Dinah?” Dean stood with his hand out, ready to help her.
His reaching hand got tangled up with the remembrance of the outstretched hands on the beautiful window in Chicago, and even though she’d fully intended to return to the hotel, she found herself placing her palm in his.
He helped her down, then hopped back onto the driver’s seat. “I’ll pick you girls up at eleven.” He brought down the reins, and the horses carried the buggy away.
The four servers in their matching uniforms hurried to the church and went inside. Ruthie started to follow, but then she stopped and looked back at Dinah. She giggled, returned, and caught Dinah’s elbow. “Come on in. They won’t bite.”
With Ruthie tugging at her arm, Dinah found the ability to move forward, but although her feet headed toward the church, inwardly she strained away. She’d hoped—so hoped—to find something of beauty here. Something bigger and better and purer than what she carried inside. Her gaze drifted to the building’s roofline. There wasn’t even a cross to signify this was a church. Tears stung. How could anything of worth be housed within such a plain shell?
They reached the stairs and Dinah dug in her heels, bringing Ruthie to a stop. “Wait.”
Ruthie shot her an impatient look. “What is it? Service is due to start. We need to go in.”
Music—not from a resonant organ like she’d heard in Chicago, but produced by disharmonious voices—drifted from the open door. Dinah cringed. “I … I don’t think I can.”
Ruthie was staring at her with her normally smiling lips set in a disapproving frown. “I don’t want to be rude, truly I don’t, and especially not on the Lord’s day, but if you’re refusing to go inside because my papa’s church doesn’t meet with your rich standards, then I’ll have to be very frank with you and say it hurts my feelings.”
Her rich standards? “It isn’t that. It’s …” But what could she say? If she confessed the building too closely resembled her own less-than-beautiful life, she would not only insult Ruthie, but she’d share a hint of the past she wanted to keep buried. Why did everything have to disappoint her? She lowered her head and caught a glimpse of the little black book Ruthie carried. She’d seen similar books held by others entering the church. She pointed weakly at the book. “I don’t have one of those.”
Ruthie’s eyes widened. Then her face pinched in regret. She squeezed Dinah’s elbow. “Is that all?” She guided Dinah up the first step. “You don’t need to worry. Not everyone has a Bible to bring to church, and Papa reads the Scripture out loud.” Another tug, and Dinah moved up another riser. “I’ll share mine with you, all right?” One more tug and they reached the door. “Hurry now—they’re almost finished with singing and Papa will begin to speak.”
Ruthie hurried Dinah through a narrow entry that extended in both directions. Nails pounded into the walls served as simple hooks. No wraps or jackets hung on any of the nails, but men’s hats hid a half dozen from view. The people were standing as they sang, and Ruthie led Dinah straight up the center aisle between the groups. Dinah felt curious gazes aimed at her, and she kept her head low, watching the toes of her shoes cross the wide pine planks all the way to the front. At least she could hide behind her uniform, which gave her a small measure of comfort in these strange surroundings.
Ruthie pulled Dinah into the first row on the right side of the room. A man wearing a black suit, his mouth open wide in song, stood at the front on a slightly raised platform. Dinah was so close that if she reached out with her foot, her toes would tap the wooden edge of the platform. The man glanced in her direction, and even as he continued to sing, a smile lifted the corners of his lips. Dinah blinked in recognition. The man had Ruthie’s smile.
She focused on the words being sung with gusto. “Rapture, praise, and endless worship will be our sweet portion there.” The song ended with a series of wheezing breaths.
The man at the front, Ruthie’s father, aimed a beaming smile across the gathered people. “Wonderful singing this morning! Aren’t we all so grateful to have a friend in Jesus? To know He bears our burdens and hears us when we pray?”
A chorus of amens rang behind Dinah, startling her.
“To have the assurance of eternity with Him?” Ruthie’s father boomed.
More, heartier amens exploded.
“Amen, indeed!” Ruthie’s father waved his arms. “Bow your heads, folks, and let’s talk to Him now in prayer.”
With shuffling feet and soft murmurs, those gathered in the church followed Mr. Mead’s instruction. All except Dinah. While Ruthie’s father offered a lengthy, big-voiced prayer from the front and everyone else listened, she took advantage of the moment to give the room a thorough perusal.
Although the church’s interior was far from the opulent beauty she’d expected, it held a simple charm that smoothed the edges of her unease. White plastered walls gleamed in the sunshine pouring through the clear glass windows. A small, battered table on the corner of the front platform held a Mason jar filled with fragrant wildflowers. Against the plain backdrop, the flowers seemed brighter than any Dinah had ever seen. A thick book lay open at the base of the jar. A few green leaves dipped low as if reading the exposed words. The breeze easing in from the doors open at both the front and the back of the church rustled the book’s pages, and Dinah experienced the strange sensation to step near and see what they had to say.
“Amen,” Mr. Mead said, and everyone raised their heads.
In one accord, the people seated themselves on the benches. Ruthie pulled Dinah down next to her, then kept hold of her arm. Dinah gently extracted it. As she did so, she caught sight of those lined up on Ruthie’s other side. Several children—a little girl with spirals of strawberry-colored hair and five boys of various ages, all with close-cropped hair of reddish-blond the same shade as Ruthie’s—tipped forward slightly to look directly at her. Apparently Ruthie had led her to the same bench where her family sat. She shouldn’t be here at the front with Ruthie’s family as if she belonged.
Ruthie’s father picked up the book from the little table and held it in his broad palm the way a mother might cradle the head of her newborn child. “If you have a Bible with you, turn with me to the book of Isaiah, the twenty-sixth chapter, beginning with verse two.” He began reading aloud, his voice so full and rich it bounced from the ceiling beams and downward again. The little row of faces turned forward, gazing at their fa
ther attentively.
Although the words Mr. Mead read were beautifully crafted and delivered with intensity, Dinah wished he’d have the people stand up and sing another off-key hymn. If they were standing, she might be able to sneak her way to the back bench. Sitting here in the front, she felt like an interloper. Was everyone behind her looking at her, wondering why she sat with the preacher’s family? She fidgeted, her body itching with discomfort. Surely they’d sing again, wouldn’t they? As soon as they did, she’d move. Or could she? She hadn’t looked to see if there was an open space in the back.
As surreptitiously as possible, she shifted to send a glance toward the benches farthest from the platform. And her gaze landed on a familiar face. The egg man, who’d frightened her and then asked her forgiveness for having done so, sat next to the center aisle on the very back bench. For the first time that morning, for reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, her stiff muscles began to relax.
The man’s face turned slightly, and he caught her looking at him. For a moment his brows descended, as if he was confused, but then a smile bloomed on his square, honest face. With a movement so slight she might have imagined it, he bobbed his head in a simple hello.
Beside her, Ruthie cleared her throat softly. Dinah’s face flamed. She jerked her gaze forward and kept it there the remainder of the service. She tried to listen to Ruthie’s father—his full-throated voice and enthusiastic delivery commanded attention—but her thoughts drifted repeatedly to the very back bench where the egg man sat. It was ridiculous, but knowing he was there made her feel less like an intruder.
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